


Somewhere Slowly

by noelia_g



Series: long way home [2]
Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-28
Updated: 2016-12-28
Packaged: 2018-09-12 23:18:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9095029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noelia_g/pseuds/noelia_g
Summary: Companion piece to Steady As She Goes - Cassian Andor before Rogue One, during, and after. The long way to finding home.





	

He lies about his age when joining up. He’s pretty sure half of the people here did lie about something while joining up. 

It’s easy to tell with some, with those who are running from the law or from the Empire. He’s good at telling the liars by necessity from liars for convenience, and it’s something that soon makes him indispensable to Draven. 

“We’re all stocked up on idealism,” the man tells him once, right around the time Cassian drinks alcohol for the first time and pretends it’s not foul. “It’s the pragmatists that we desperately need, Andor.”

“We’ve definitely lucked out with you, then,” Merrick mutters, slapping Draven on the back.

*

Cassian spends his eighteenth birthday trapped in a downed transport ship, with two corpses and a deactivated imperial droid for company. His leg is broken, at least two of his ribs cracked, and he’s pretty sure the dizziness points to concussion. The rescue mission might be coming or it might not, depending if his message made it out in time and what is the situation out there. 

Even odds everybody’s dead by now.

He starts narrating what he’s doing as he patches himself up, addressing the dark skull of the lifeless droid, because it keeps his mind occupied at least to some degree. 

At some point through the pain and exhaustion it starts to look as if the droid is listening, the empty eyes watching him with something akin to concern.

He toys with the idea for a long moment - it’s dumb and it’s risky, but it will keep him busy for a while and if it works, he might get a small chance of getting out of here on their own. He has access to the ship’s equipment and nothing but time, and in the small hours of the night, with his fingers stained with blood, this doesn’t seem like the worst idea.

His vision is blurry by the time he’s done, sees double when the droid’s white eyes light up and when he stretches up to an impressive and intimidating height.

“I am K2SO,” the droid informs him. “An Imperial droid, assignment… no, that is not right,” he tilts his head quizzically, regarding Cassian, who laughs and ends up coughing.

“I’m Cassian. Welcome to the Rebellion.”

He passes out at least three times while K2 dislodges the door and half-carries, half-drags him through the wreckage. When he wakes up for good and doesn’t feel quite like he’s dying anymore, there’s a beeping of a machine next to him and K2 looming to his left.

“Gave us a fucking scare,” Melshi tells him when he visits, clasping Cassian’s shoulder and making him wince. “Was pretty sure the thing was gonna shoot us all.”

“Kaytoo would never,” Cassian protests, and he knows he’s grinning like a madman when Kaytoo inclines his head in consideration.

“I calculate at least four thousands twenty seven scenarios in which I would definitely have shot them all. Would you like me to start running them?”

*

Joreth Sward is a small-minded, career-oriented, unfeeling asshole and Cassian wouldn’t mind punching him if he had the chance. The trouble is, Joreth Sward _is_ Cassian Andor, at least for the time being, at least until this job is done.

Still, his hatred for Joreth Sward doesn’t even begin to compare to his hatred for Imperial Admiral Grendreef, and the whole mission hinges on him successfully winning Grendreef’s trust. 

It’s seven months of inhabiting the life of an Imperial aide daily, with only a weekly contact with the base, conducted impersonally through a dead drop. It’s seven months of being an accessory to executions and torture, even if it’s just by the flick of his pen. It’s seven months of sleepless nights and evenings spent dry heaving into the sink even though there’s nothing left in him.

It’s seven months of staying at his post, because if the mission succeeds, and it _has to_ , it’d mean ships for the newly formed Alliance, it’d mean a liberation of an _entire planet_. 

Whatever it costs him, it’s still a bargain.

*

K2 greets him back with a stilted nod and a flat “I calculated the odds of you committing suicide at 67 percent.” He holds the pause for a long moment. “I’m glad you’re back.”

Cassian gives in to his impulse and hugs the droid, who seems nonplussed but pats his shoulder nonetheless. 

*

There are clear wins, sometimes. Against all odds, especially those K2 readily supplies, there are good days.

The extraction on Ord Mantell. The kid on Darknell. There are days when everybody lives and he can look himself in the eye in the mirror. 

He clings to those thoughts on all the other days.

*

The rumours of the weapon start slow, the cargo pilots talking about shipments, some of his Albarrio recruits sharing vague gossip, a defecting Imperial scientist with secondhand knowledge of the project’s existence. 

On their own, they all sound like a scare tactic, like a monster out of a fairy tale. Adding it all up?

“This sounds like the culmination of all the Empire stands for,” Mon Mothma tells them quietly and nods at Cassian. “We need to either confirm the rumors or know beyond the shadow of the doubt that that’s all they are. Either way, this is a priority now.”

It’s a wild goose chase, more than anything else. No one knows anything and those who do are not talking, either too afraid or too quickly silenced. There’s a couple of strands worth pursuing and he clings to those; one of them is a name. Galen Erso. 

Through a former associate of Saw Gerrera he finds the man’s daughter, but that’s a dead end, she hasn’t been in contact with either of them for years and is leading her own troubled life in the Outer Rim. Erso himself has disappeared years ago, most of his research highly classified or erased from databanks. 

And then it all comes together, neatly tying up to the Jedha Kybers mystery of why the Empire was so eager for them. 

Cassian leaves the trading outpost with blood on his hands again, but with a clearer purpose. _The planet killer._ If the weapon is real and if he can in any way contribute to stopping it, then maybe at least some of what he had done would have mattered. 

“We need to act now,” he says at the briefing. “Get to Saw Gerrera, get to the pilot. If Erso indeed sent him then every moment can be crucial.”

“Saw won’t talk to us,” Mon Mothma tell him wistfully. Regret flashes over her face before she schools it down to her usual serene expression. This is the worst time for even more evidence that the Rebellion is still too fragmented and too scattered to really threaten the Empire.

Still, Cassian is ready for this. “Jyn Erso, daughter of Galen and Lyra,” he says firmly, stepping forward into the circle of light around the holotable. “Saw raised her after her father joined, or was forced to join, the weapons development project.”

“Same problem,” Draven mutters. “We won’t get close enough to any of Saw’s people.”

“That’s just it, she isn’t,” Cassian tells him and flicks the holo open, a portrait of a woman in her early twenties hovering over the table. “This is Jyn Erso. Currently incarcerated on Wobani for a series of crimes and misdemeanors against the Empire. Hasn’t been affiliated with Saw for years, loose ties to a number of the underground groups but nothing permanent. The Imperials don’t know who they have in custody yet, she’s in the system as Liana Halik and her scandocs are good enough to fool the Imperials.”

“But not you?” Draven says, half-curious and half-pleased.

“The slicer she used is a…” he stops himself from saying _friend_ , it’s a word that wears out too quickly these days. “She’s an asset of mine.”

“And she’s our way to Galen Erso?”

“She’s our way to Saw Gerrera,” Cassian corrects him. “From what we know of him, he won’t turn her away.”

“I agree,” Mon Mothma nods, studying the holo for a moment before looking up at Cassian. “The mission is a go, Captain.”

He nods at her briskly and clicks the holo off, the image of Jyn Erso flickering before it disappears.

*

She’s not what he expected. That’s strange, because he wasn’t even sure what he was expecting. 

A hardened criminal, judging by the rap sheet and the gangs she’s ran with. A lost girl, abandoned by parents and guardians. A drifter, with no purpose and no cause and an eye for opportunity.

Cassian Andor knows how to read people, and he knows which levers to use with them, it’s easy enough to figure out in a few moments, especially when they’re being prodded by someone as annoying as Draven can be at his official best. Cassian spends that time sticking to the shadows and watching her, cataloguing the reactions and waiting for an opening, but Jyn Erso isn’t making it easy.

There’s a fire inside her, something burning under her skin that by rights should have been extinguished years ago, but is still there, flaring up when unchecked. It’s not angry, and it’s not quite defiant, and it takes him a long moment before he finds a word that fits. 

_Righteous._

She professes her disinterest in Alliance’s cause and he wonders briefly how bright she’d burn if there was something she truly believed him, how fierce she’d be.  
Draven mentions her father and something shift in her expression, quickly pressed down. Cassian is familiar with the feeling, though it has been a long time - hope. Barely there, a whisper of a feeling, that nevertheless stokes the fire inside her. 

She talks of her father and of Saw, two men who abandoned her, and Cassian supposes he found the lever.

He hates himself a little for it.

*

He almost laughs in Draven’s face when he gets the order, because he should have expected it. There’s no way this doesn’t end badly, probably with Jyn Erso shooting him in the back for this, but he nods and gets back to the ship anyway, tries to make himself busy with the flight preparations.

When K2 points out the blaster she’s holding it seems like an early herald of his inevitable death, but then she looks him straight in the face and speaks of trust.

People often ask him to trust them, informants, prisoners, prospective assets, people desperate for a new life in exchange for a piece of intel they’ve scrounged up. No one looks him in the face and offers trust in return, and yet here they are.

Trust was what he intended to offer her, the lever she would react to, but she’s throwing it at him and apparently he is easier to play than he thought he’d be. And yet. 

“You’re letting her keep it?” Kay asks and Cassian filters him out, the blood rushing through his veins almost deafening. 

*

Jedha is a powder keg, more so than he’s expected. There’s a coiled tension in everyone who passes them by, a fight or flee response barely held back; and with these many troopers and with Saw Gerrera’s agents likely among the Jedha populace, it’s going to be a fight sooner or later.

The way his contacts scatter and run, and the number of “pilgrims” clearly carrying concealed weapons point to sooner. 

Jyn, meanwhile, is chatting with the locals. 

While usually he wouldn’t fault anyone for forging some ties with possible assets on location, they really don’t have time for this, the window for finding Saw is disappearing. And too soon, with a flash of a grenade and with shots fired, it’s all but gone.

Cassian focuses on the task: get Jyn out safely, identify the leader of Saw’s troops, make contact, hope they won’t immediately shoot to kill. 

Jyn has different priorities, it turns out, and the moment he loses sight of her she throws herself into the fray, shielding a child from the blasts. He swears under his breath and considers his options, trying not to be distracted by the way something warm tightens in his stomach.

It’s not an unfamiliar impulse, to protect, he had felt it too, but he’s always had his orders and his mission and they need to have precedence. They _have to_ have precedence. Prioritizing a single life over the fate of the galaxy is… foolish. Selfish. 

He tightens his grasp on his blaster and refocuses on the task. Get Jyn, find Saw’s men, make contact. Try not to die.

*

The walls of Saw’s hideout are crumbling around them. He manages to get through to Kaytoo and yells at the Guardians to get the pilot and make for the ship, before heading to search for Jyn.

He finds her kneeling on the floor, curled up on herself as if she had been shot to the gut. She doesn’t look up when he calls her name, holding herself stiffly when he pulls her up, her hands shaking under his. 

Saw has to insist she leaves, and even then she seems to be moving more by instinct than any conscious thought. Something has happened while they were apart and there’s no time to ask, but her face is drawn, marked with drying tears. Cassian stumbles over words and settles on “run.” 

He forgets how to breathe until they’re in hyperspace, the silence in the ship deafening now that they take stock and consider what has just happened.

The weapon confirmed. Jedha destroyed. 

The entire city gone in an instant, all the people they’ve just seen… Cassian tries to convey it in the message he’s sending back to base and struggles to come up with a single phrase that would describe the destruction, the loss. His mouth is dry and his hands are shaking before he steels himself and settles on the bare facts. 

He gets the response after a few moments of waiting and breathes out. He’s not sure what he’s expected, but the cold shiver of disappointment runs down his back anyway. It takes him a moment to focus on what Jyn is talking about, on her father’s supposed message. 

Her fire is back, he realises, and it looks ready to consume her. She professed not to believe in their cause, but she clearly found _something_ to believe in, and it’s both glorious and worrying. Worrying, because Cassian has never went against his orders, but he wishes he could now. 

It’d be a small and dangerous step, and who would he become without the structure and surety of the Alliance? What would the Alliance be without the democracy of the Council and the check and balances of the chain of command? The spectrum is between the tyranny of the Empire and the violence of the extremists, and it’s too thin a line to cross because of…

Because of what. A message he hasn’t heard and the word of a woman he just met? A wisp of a hope in the face of Jedha’s death? 

And yet when he tells her it’s not his decision and sees the disappointment flash across her face his chest aches with unexpected regret. 

As he rechecks his blaster settings he realises the decision to bring her to Eadu was his own - by the time Jedha was crumbling he had all the information on Erso’s whereabouts, taking Jyn along not only didn’t further the mission, it practically guaranteed problems.

And yet all he thought of at the time was getting her out. Maybe he truly is a glutton for punishment who’d only have himself to blame when she inevitably shoots him after this. Or maybe he wished she could have done something more to convince him.

*

“She hasn’t shot you yet,” Kaytoo notes as he’s setting the ship down on Yavin’s landing pad. “I may need to re-evaluate some variables,” he adds, sounding mildly interested in the notion. 

“You do that,” Cassian mutters, busying himself with the brown uniform jacket he puts back on. He’s not in a hurry to leave the ship, even though he knows he ought to give his report as soon as possible. 

Unfortunately, he’s pretty sure he knows how it will go. He recognises the newly arrived ships on the tarmac - the Council is here, all of them. Mothma must have put the pressure on, but she’s one of the very few who will advocate action.

Cassian doesn’t need Kaytoo to gives him odds on this one.

He’s the first to give testimony, a very brief overview of his investigation into the weapon, then the last couple of days in detail, the destruction of Jedha, the events on Eadu, what he knows of the message, Krennic’s involvement, Erso’s death. He can feel Jyn’s eyes on him, but forces himself not to look at her. He’s pretty sure he would hate to see the look in her eyes again.

He still feels the flush under his skin like when she turned to him, her expression coldly assessing even though her eyes were burning, piercing through him like she could see his every fault. She goaded him enough he tried to justify himself, realising the mistake the moment the words were out of his mouth. 

She wasn’t pulling any punches, and somehow she found just the right places to hit. He’s been called worse than a stormtrooper, after all, and yet, the whole exchange left him angry and ashamed in a way he hasn’t allowed himself to feel in a while. 

He could feel the silence stretching like a pulled wire in the ship, the judgement coming off the others in waves. Bodhi did his best to avoid his gaze, Baze and Chirrut’s expressions plane in their disapproval. 

So now he doesn’t look at Jyn or the others at all, forces his voice to stay level and gives the Council all the facts, all the while staring two inches to the left over Mothma’s shoulder. When he’s done he nods at Draven and steps back, allowing him to take up from there and give context for the Eadu engagement. It’d Bodhi up next, then finally Jyn. Then the Council will decide.

But he doesn’t need to be here for this, he knows where it’s going. Mothma won’t advocate for any course of action openly, but Organa will. Raddus will be ready to jump into action, Draven will advise caution, most likely suspicious of the intel’s sources. Pamlo and Merrick are the undecideds, depending how the discussion goes they might swing either way, but the rest will definitely be against the mission. The Council won’t agree and so they won’t sanction it.

He glances at Jyn before he can help himself and her eyes flicker to his as if she felt his gaze. There’s determination in her face, and she holds herself straighter than before, ready to give her best, ready to convince the whole Council to take on an Imperial planet.

It won’t be enough.

Cassian looks away, steps towards the door, clasping Melshi’s shoulder. “Walk with me,” he says, and the man glances back at the table but follows wordlessly. 

“There you are,” Kaytoo greets him from where he apparently took to guarding the door. “Has the council decided? That was more efficient than I expected. I might need to update my data on them.”

“Hold on that yet,” Cassian tells him flatly and turns to Melshi. “They won’t greenlight it,” he says, and Melshi nods his agreement on the assessment. “But the weapon is real and the plans are on Scarif,” he says, and is almost surprised by the conviction in his voice. “We’ll need men on the ground.”

“You’ll need more than that,” Melshi mutters and regards him for a moment. Cassian doesn’t bother to school his expression down, he can’t allow himself to be anything but earnest now. “Never thought I’d see _you_ go against orders.”

“Technically no one told me to keep away from Scarif,” Cassian shrugs. It’s not a defence that’s gonna fly with anyone, but Melshi cracks a grin anyway before tilting his head in consideration.

“You sure of this?”

“Never been more sure,” he says, and finds himself meaning it. He believes Jyn, has for longer than he was willing to admit to himself. And whatever she might think of him, she’s going to need all the help he can scrounge up for her.

Melshi nods, bouncing at his heels as he thinks. “Sefla and Mefran are who you need. Casrich will go even if we don’t ask him, because he’s insane.”

“Alright,” Cassian says, snapping into the planning mode even as his heartbeat races with exhilaration. “Pao and Tonc, for sure. Who else?”

There’s well over a dozen of them by the time the debriefing ends. He watches Jyn walk out of the building, her shoulders stiff with disappointment. She’s still angry when he speaks, but he needs her to understand where he’s coming from. Once again it’s difficult to stop himself from saying too much to her, to not lay himself bare. 

But then she’s smiling, and he can’t help but smile back, filled with relief and anticipation and something else, unfurling slowly and painfully in his chest. 

“Welcome home,” he tells her, and it’s only then, her face inches away from his, that he realises what it all means, this feeling tightening in his chest, the itch in his fingers, the rush in his veins. _Oh_ , he thinks. 

*

He’s listening to Kaytoo dying. 

There’s no other way to put it, the droid’s increasingly insistent voice telling them to go on, giving last instructions on how to continue the mission.

The room is swallowed in darkness, no sounds from the comms anymore, just the faint echo of blaster fire from behind the sealed doors. Cassian finds he has trouble breathing, the room growing smaller, walls closing in, his hands shaking. 

He’s back on the downed ship, Kaytoo’s unmoving skull-like head the only face he dares look at, hands shaking, shaking…

He busies himself with the Imperial uniform, forces his hands to stay level enough to undo the buckles. Tries not to let the thoughts pour in, not to let himself wonder who else is gone. How far did Melshi and Sefla make it, is Bodhi safe on the ship, how many of the men he’s brought here have fallen already, how many will…

 _Climb_ , he thinks, Kaytoo’s voice in his head. There’s only one way to go now.

*

He’s well versed by now in taking account of his injuries beyond _this kriffing hurts_ , and he focuses on taking stock because it’s better than focusing on the chasm below when he starts climbing again.

Jyn must have made it to the top, because the thought of her falling after he fell, and falling to her death, is not something he will even allow to exist right now. And so he climbs.

Broken ribs, that’s for sure. The exact number to be determined, but they hurt like motherfucker. Sprained shoulder and ankle, currently aggravating both of them. Possible concussion, but the blurry vision and nausea might just be from the pain. Hopefully not bleeding internally but the day is still young.

He gets close to the top of the shaft, swearing under his breath when he sees the shutter slide open and shut with deadly speed. It’d be challenging on a good day, and this has not been one so far.

He hoists himself up, expecting to feel piercing pain any second now, but it never comes, the shutter closing behind him. 

There’s no time for relief though, and he allows himself just a short pause to take a deep breath before climbing the last couple of inches and into the light. 

His eyes find Jyn immediately, glaring down Krennic’s blaster barrel, eyes burning even fiercer than he’s seen before. Krennic says something, words lost to the wind howling around them, but the way he telegraphs his shot is unmistakable, and Cassian’s instincts kick in. He shoots first. 

Jyn looks up at him, and he thinks she’s smiling, the moment stretching out, his shallow breath caught in his throat as something warm blooms in his chest. They move together, stumbling towards the console, hoping, all of the desperation and recklessness rewarded when the screen lights up.

If they’re lucky, somebody out there is listening, somebody there will make this worthwhile, all of the things he’s done, all of what they’ve done, that led them here.

Jyn takes a step toward Krennic, intent coiled in her like a wire ready to be sprung, but Cassian holds on. He’s a hypocrite, yes, but he grasps her hand anyway, tugs her away from the man. Krennic has lost, he wants to say, he’s lost _to you_ , and staining your hands with his blood won’t wash away the ash of Jedha or the mud of Eadu. 

He can’t find the words, and can’t quite catch his breath to let them out anyway, so it’s just his fingers digging into her skin, but Jyn seems to understand anyway. She follows him out, away from the howling wind and unrelenting sun and into the quiet darkness of the elevator getting them back to the beach.

Cassian doesn’t have false hopes that anybody would be waiting for them, or that they’d conveniently stumble over a flight-ready ship, but he wants to take the few stumbling steps they have left towards the rest of the people they’ve led here. 

Jyn’s eyes are wide in the flickering lights, and he’s not sure if the sound he hears is his own heart beating fast, or hers. She’s holding him up, her face so close he can feel her breath on his lips, and when the elevator comes to a halt, the ground around them shaking, their lips brush for a fragment of a second, a ghost of a touch.

His eyes take a moment to adjust back to the light, and it is more difficult than he thought it’d be to look away from Jyn. Two things demand the attention, however - the Death Star looming on the horizon, and, inexplicably, wonderfully, a ship setting down gracelessly on the beach, Chirrut standing in the open cargo door. 

“I suggest you hurry,” he yells out helpfully. 

Tonc is right behind him, reaching out to pull them up onboard, ending up having to support most of Cassian’s weight - adrenaline was apparently only willing to carry him this far. “How many…” he rasps out as Jyn looks around the ship, biting her lip. 

Tonc takes a moment to speak, which is an answer all in itself. “Me and Gabby. Bodhi is in the pilot’s seat. These two,” he points his thumb to where Baze is sprawled on the ground, eyes closed and a nasty bruise under his eye, Chirrut bent over him. I think some of the guys made it out with the Blues…” he says with a look that turns “think” into more of a “hope.” 

Cassian clasps his shoulder and makes sure to look him in the eye. “Thank you,” he mutters before pulling himself up, his whole body protesting viciously, and hauling towards the cockpit, Jyn on his heels. “Bodhi. How we doing?”

The pilot’s eyes flicker to him before he turns his attention back to the controls. “Terribly. Hyperdrive is down, the Imperial fleet just jumped into the system, and most of ours are either gone or… _gone_ ” he says and swallows nervously. “Can’t stay on Scarif, don’t know where to go that’s close enough. Keep flying, I suppose?”

Cassian concentrates, staring at the system’s map on the screen. “Alright,” he says, sliding into the co-pilot’s chair and punching in the coordinates. “Here’s where we’re gonna go. I know somebody who might help.” It’s going to cost him a lot of favours and might still get shot for his trouble, but today on all days this doesn’t seem like that much of a risk.

“Alright,” Bodhi echoes, giving him a suspicious look before glancing at Jyn and forcing a nervous smile. She beams back, a hand on his arm, and that seems to be enough.

He leaves them in the cockpit, waving off Jyn’s questions about his injuries, and heads to investigate the cargo latches, hoping for a first aid kit but willing to accept a number of results. What he finds is rudimentary - the Empire has never been known for taking care of its troops - but it’s something to do in a pinch. 

“Chirrut,” he calls out and tosses the man a pack of bacta patches, which he catches easily, not even raising his head. Yeah, Cassian is still suspicious of the not-a-Jedi assurances. He passes the second packet to Gabby and leaves one aside for Jyn and Bodhi, then goes through the rest of the boxes. Rations enough for two days for all of them, but the flavorless, ashen kind that it’ll probably take them two days to resort to them anyway. Water, three days’ worth if they’re careful with it. Weapons enough for another battle, because of course the Imperials have priorities.

Something to trade at the enclave at least. Bodhi might have the skills to fix the hyperdrive, especially with Cassian’s and Gabby’s help, but it will come to naught if they don’t have anything to trade for the necessary parts. 

“Would you sit down for a minute,” Jyn mutters, her hand lightly pressing against his back. “You look like you’re about to fall over.”

“I’m fine,” he assures her and presses the patches into her hand, gesturing to the dark smudge of blood that seeped through her shirt on her back. “We should check on Bodhi, he didn’t look entirely…”

“I’ll check on Bodhi,” she tells him. “You should get some rest, Cassian, there’s nothing to _do_ right now but rest. We’ve done it,” she mutters, her voice low and for his ears only, her breath warm on his neck. “Against all odds, and we even survived it, which is more than I expected.”

Kaytoo would probably correct her on the odds, even if his assessment of the likelihood of the mission’s positive outcome was less than one percent it was not _all_ odds against them and…

“Some of us didn’t. Survive,” he adds when she looks at him. She nods slowly, and it’s only from this close up that it shows how really tired she is, the weariness in her eyes. She knows their losses, feels them just as keenly as he does, he realises. They’ve all followed _her_ , after all. But still, Cassian is the one who knew them, who sought them all out and brought them to this fight in the first place, who fought with them and laughed with them and who’s going to seek out their friends and loved ones and tell them how they’ve laid their lives for a dream that the Rebellion might live on.

Jyn grasps his shoulder, saying something he doesn’t quite make out through the deafening sound of blood rushing through his veins, the frantic beat in his ears. His leg twitches violently, the low throb of pain he was sort of getting used to turning into an agonizing current running through it, and he stumbles down. 

“Cassian,” Jyn yells through the haze, her face going blurry in front of his eyes the last thing he sees for a while.

*

“I actually believed you the first time you said you were fine,” she tells him much later, when they’re laid up in Yavin’s medbay and the medics just finished their litany of everything that’s wrong with him.

Well, not everything, he has his own list, but he digresses.

“I need to remember you’re a professional liar and I should not believe a word you say,” she continues, and Cassian turns his head to look at her, as she’s sitting on her cot, holding onto her arm at where they drew blood for tests.

Her words could easily be aimed to hurt, with their history, but there’s no judgement in her face, just concern in her eyes even though she’s smiling. 

“I _am_ fine,” he points out, and she huffs in derision.

“You and I, we have a very different definition of _fine_ ,” she tells him flatly and leans back against the single flat pillow that’s customary in the medbay. She gets the green light to leave the infirmary an hour later, though not after threatening she’d be back to check on Cassian when he least expects it.

“If it would come to this, my money’s on her,” Bodhi supplies unhelpfully from two beds away and Cassian snorts. It’s only them in the medbay now, after Baze checked himself out against advice - Chirrut backed him up, saying it’d be much worse if he was forced to stay. 

“Do you even have any money?” he asks flatly and Bodhi shrugs.

“I’m pretty sure my former employer’s closed my account, so probably not. But if I had, it’d still be on her, especially with that limp of yours. I know you can fight dirty, but I’m pretty sure she does too.”

Cassian nods, he did see her in action after all, he would not bet on himself either. He calls up his best offended look before regarding Bodhi for a moment. “Ever learned how to play sabacc?”

“Ye- yeah? Never was any good though, terrible bluffing skills.”

“That’s good, I was a little tired of losing against Pao,” Cassian tells him and flags down one of the medics, persuading him to lend them the deck he knows doctor Lierre keeps in the bottom drawer of her desk, next to an untouched bottle of Whyren’s Reserve. 

Turns out it doesn’t really matter if Bodhi can bluff for shit or not, because he doesn’t have to - his luck in drawing cards is unreal. “Well,” Cassian mutters after seven hands of the game, “at least you have the money to bet with now.” 

“Could do with a couple of credits to put towards a quiet life somewhere,” Bodhi says, shuffling cards for much longer than necessary, a nervous tilt to his words. Cassian waits for a couple of beats until he speaks.

Bodhi was right, he _is_ damn easy to read. “Or you could stay with the Alliance,” he says and leans back. “I have been recruiting for the Rebellion for a long time,” he adds. “I could give you a spiel tailored for you, if you want. But if boils down to: we could use a man like you.”

“A pilot,” Bodhi prompts, and Cassian shrugs. 

There’s a number of levers that would work on Bodhi, he’s already discerned, most of them already labelled by Galen Erso. Guilt, redemption, debt. There is also, always, the truth.

“We _are_ at a rather desperate shortage, yes. Though more and more are joining every day, especially since the news of Alderaan started spreading. But we always need good men.”

Bodhi glances at him quickly, eyes flickering between his, as if he’s trying to read him. Cassian lets him, before pointing down to the deck.

“So, eight out of seventeen?”

*

Eventually they have to let him out of the medbay. Later than he’d like, sooner than the medics recommend, but they’re all well versed in the art of compromise. 

The mood on the base is the strangest he’s seen yet, they’re mourning the losses at Scarif and at the Death Star run, and they’re all mourning Alderaan, but at the same time there’s the elation and the exhilaration of having destroyed the planet killer. New recruits show up daily, those who had been uncertain as to whether to join or not, brought here by the news of Alderaan, and the handful of Imperial defectors for whom that had been a wake up call. 

They’re growing in strength every day, but they also all realise that any moment the Empire is going to come looking for them, and they won’t get another victory easily. Operations is looking for new base locations and Cassian sits on the briefings but Draven has held off on sending him anywhere yet.

He’s not _quite_ bored out of his mind, but that’s the longest downtime he’s had that he remembers. His routine is all wrong, too, there’s no Pao to lose at sabacc to, no Rostok to train with, no Kaytoo to discuss strategy with. Cassian has learned how to deal with losing people a long ago, but the sheer scale loss after Scarif and the Death Star run is terrifying. He keeps looking for familiar faces and learning they have passed. 

This morning he goes looking for Maddel, only to learn she’s been in the Blue Squadron’s reinforcements. She’s officially listed as MIA, as is everyone no one actually saw _falling_ , but that’s as good as dead.  
Rodma was Intelligence, specialising in urban areas, there was no reason for her to be with the fleet or at Scarif unless she volunteered, and she would have had volunteered only if she learned he was on the ground. He’s been the one to recruit her into this fight in the first place, after all. 

Jyn finds him in the canteen, going over the personnel files, jotting down the emergency contact details. Officially he has not been the commanding officer of any of the fallen, but he’d be damned if he washed his hands off this responsibility. Mothma gave him a very long look when he requested the task, but acquiesced anyway, her eyes tired.

With Raddus, Merrick, and Bail Organa all gone, she must have her hands full with the Council - the addition of Princess Leia might not be enough to sway it towards reason. Word is they’re looking to get Bel Iblis back, but that’s a job and a half. 

“So, I beat up a Wookie today,” Jyn informs him, placing two mugs of caf next to his stack of datacards. He’s not allowed caf just yet, and he knows she knows it, but she places a finger on her lips conspiratorially when he looks at her in an ‘I won’t tell if you won’t tell’ gesture. 

“Did you?” he asks, moderately impressed but mostly suspicious.

“Of course not, the Wookie beat me. But I laid in at least three good punches, so there’s that,” she says with satisfaction. “She had really long arms,” she complains and Cassian snorts, reaching for the mug and downing the caf in one go. It’s the terrible sludge they serve in the canteen, but he really, really needed it. 

“Heard you’ve been training with Cracken’s people,” he tosses out, unready to ask the question he wants yet, just in case he gets an answer. 

“Yeah, feels like home, some of them make Saw’s band seem almost level-headed,” she cracks and takes a sip of her caf before frowning at it. “That’s vile,” she informs him and continues drinking.

“Careful, you’ll make people think you intend to join the Rebellion.”

Her eyes flicker to his and the moment stretches for a little too long before she shrugs. “People thought worse things of me, I’m sure.”

There’s a lightness to her tone that seems forced, and they’re both talking in circles, hesitant with each other in ways they haven’t been before. It’s always easier when there’s nothing left to lose, when the world is ending. It’s in the days after that the fear appears. 

“Cracken does most of his work in the Outer Rim,” he says matter-of-factly, leaning in slightly, absently moving the datacards from one pile to another. “If you want something closer to home, Onoran would be a good person to talk to.”

Jyn sits up a little straighter, head tilted as he talks. A smile slowly blooms on her lips, warm and happy. “See, I was wondering why I didn’t get the spiel you gave Bodhi,” she tells him, and relief courses through him. 

“I didn’t give Bodhi _a spiel_.”

She shrugs. “Well, maybe you should. We need to stick together,” she adds softly, and he knows she lets him see the flash of vulnerability because he’s been there while she lost all of the family she had left in a few short days. 

He’s never had much of a family save for Kay and much of a home save for the Alliance, but something in her tone stirs up the regret he’s long buried.

*

Baze and Chirrut are gearing up to leave. They intend to stick around for a few days more, he predicts, but Baze has been trading favours for a ship and supplies, and Chirrut made a few comments about the Force’s will. 

Baze asks him about his Ord Mantell contacts, and Cassian has no idea how Baze knows he has Ord Mantell contacts but to be honest, he’s a little afraid to ask, because the answer could be _the Force_ and that he has no idea what to do with.

“I’m not saying we’re heading that way, but if we find ourselves there…” Baze shrugs and Cassian gives him a look.

“That place is a powder keg right now, you’ll be looking for trouble.”

“I never look for trouble,” Baze tells him, in a tone that implies a barefaced lie, “but it does always find Chirrut.”

“He enjoys it,” Chirrut says cheerfully and Cassian shakes his head and leaves them to their routine, but not before giving Baze the contact details, just in case.

The next day when he goes looking for Antilles he finds a group of pilots and technicians outside of the hangar, where a space has been cleared out for what seems to be a training session between Chirrut and Skywalker, and it involves a lightsaber. 

Cassian stares at Baze for a very long time without saying anything, and then steps into the space next to Antilles, who’s sitting on a couple of crates and watching the show. 

“Have a favour to ask if you have a minute,” he offers and Antilles glances up at him and nods, standing up and wiping his hands off against his suit.

“Bodhi Rook,” he starts and Antilles nods.

“Your pilot,” he supplies.

“He’s still figuring out how he fits in here with us,” Cassian tells him. “I think you could use somebody of his skills and he could use talking to somebody like you. Not everyone looks kindly on Imperial defectors.”

“Not even with how many we’ve been getting lately,” Antilles sighs, running his hand through his hair. “One came in just yesterday, Alderaanian pilot. Was talking to his family on the holonet when the planet was destroyed.”

“Shit,” Cassian mutters, heartfelt. “I’ll owe you for this.”

“Hey, if that’s the kind of a favour you ask of me, feel free to do it anytime,” Antilles says, clasping his shoulder briefly, turning back to watch Chirrut swing the lightsaber around like he’s been born doing it. Still not a Jedi, though. 

Cassian steps away and almost runs into Solo, who starts muttering an offhand apology before his eyes go wide, and a hand grasps for his blaster. He stops himself and Cassian sees him considering the situation, and he does his own math. The last time he’s seen Solo must have been a year ago. He was posing as a bounty hunter, so that would have been at Jabba’s organisation. If the word is true and Solo owes Jabba money, this might have given him a bit of a shock to see him here.

He watches Solo reach some sort of a conclusion and gives him a friendly nod, to which Solo responds with a solemn one, like they’re agreeing to never talk about this again. 

*

He finds Jyn waiting for him outside the quarters, leaning against the wall with arms crossed, curled a little on herself like she’s sleeping standing up. The way she blinks at him owlishly when he looks up supports the theory a little, and he keys the door open wordlessly and guides her in.

“Sorry,” she mutters as he pulls up a chair for her and sits down on the cot himself. The room is small enough that their knees are touching. “It’s been a long day.” 

He almost starts with ‘it’s been an extremely long…’ but can’t find a time period that would suit the comment. Week, month, year, decade? Instead he reaches out and places his hand on her nervously twitching knee and nods. “I’d suggest sleep, but I suppose that’s not helping at all.”

She laughs humorlessly, a short huff of a sound. “I’m not even sure which ones are worse, the one in which I watch my father dying again, or the ones in which we don’t make it to the ship and all die on Scarif. Or,” she adds with another bitter snort, “the ones that just accurately reflect the reality and the body count.”

Those are the ones he knows intimately. “You were willing to die for this,” he says after a moment, her hair swaying as she nods. “So were they. Don’t do them a disservice of taking all the blame,” he tells her and holds her gaze once she looks up. 

“How’s that been working for you?” she asks softly and Cassian laughs under his breath, because of course she calls him on it. “And if you say you’re fine, I’ll never believe anything you say ever again,” she warns, but there’s a smile in the corner of her mouth. 

“I’m keeping busy,” he tells her. Most days it’s as close to ‘fine’ as he can manage. She reaches out and catches his hands, tangling their fingers together, leaning in as they breathing starts to match. In the quiet shadow of the room it feels once again like they’re the only people in the galaxy. 

“Ever played sabacc?” he asks and she shakes her head, even though he is pretty sure she’s lying. “Good, Bodhi’s been kicking my ass, I would like to win against somebody.”

He teaches her the basics and pointedly ignores the convenient way in which she picks everything lightning fast. Laughs and calls it a beginner’s luck when she wins three games in the row.

During the games he starts telling her Alliance stories, the good ones, about the people she didn’t get a chance to know. Tells her how Melshi _accidentally_ almost shot Kaytoo seventeen times - the droid kept a tally. How Rodma Maddel would come from each of her missions bearing a shitload of gifts for everyone - the ugliest, most useless knick knacks she could unearth. How Sefla would use old parts to make toys for the children on the base - the ones who came with their parents and haven’t been relocated yet, or the ones who joined in lying about their age. About the little furry creature Mefran adopted the first time they settled on Yavin and how the thing grew into a beast you could probably ride into battle on. About all the crazy stunts Eskro Casrich has pulled, and that takes a couple of hours of talking about. 

Cassian’s voice grows hoarse with talking, but it feels good to share this, and he continues into the small hours of morning, until Jyn drifts off with her head on his shoulder, her breath even and deep. Her fingers are tangled in his shirt and he couldn’t move without waking her even if he wanted to. He knows he’ll pay for falling asleep like this, the crick in his neck already developing, but he settles in anyway, closing his eyes and tightening his hold on her.

*

Draven finds him as he’s going through his rehabilitation exercises, Breena glaring at them for interrupting the session. “Five minutes,” she warns Draven, and Cassian would bet on her if it comes to a fight here. 

“Have a mission for me, sir?” he asks and Draven sits down on the bench before he speaks.

“In a manner of speaking,” he offers. “We’ve lost some good people, Andor. In all ranks. And I’m not saying anyone is replaceable, but it’s hardest at the highest levels. Raddus, Dries and Vander, Merrick…” he says, with only the slightest shake in his voice at the last name. Cassian doesn’t quite know if any words of comfort would be welcome, so he falls back on his best instincts and remains silent. “Not to mention Organa. The Council is at half of what it was, and we need those who can make hard calls. Mon Mothma recommended you for one of the spots.”

Alright, he definitely didn’t see that one coming.

“I fully support this,” Draven continues, his voice matter-of-fact but sincere. “You’ve made some good calls, Captain. I’ll hate losing you as an operative, but we might need a voice like yours.”

It takes him a moment to find words, even though the decision is clear. He might have hesitated yesterday still, but the night he spent talking to Jyn about friends and comrades made it clear. He’s not ready to be the one making the hard calls that send so many into danger, not if he’s not going with them.

“I appreciate that,” he says slowly, and he can tell Draven gets it immediately. “But it’d be too soon. I’m more useful to the Alliance out there.”

Draven nods sharply. “I understand,” he says, and there’s a tinge of wistfulness in his voice. “And so, I imagine, will the Senator. If that’s where we stand, however…” he starts and Cassian can easily guess where this is going.

“You _do_ have a mission.”

“I think we might.”

*

He finds the Kaytoo backup datacard while he’s packing. Of course, he knew it was there, that’s the whole point of backup, but he put off dealing with it.

Kaytoo honed a keen sense of paranoia, though in the lives they led it read more like common sense if you asked Cassian. The droid might have picked it up from him. Every two weeks he’d make a backup of all his data, just in case he was reprogrammed again. 

And so, technically, Kay wasn’t really gone, there was a tangible, usable copy of him at hand, but actually getting him back presented a whole host of problems. He’d need a unit from the same line, and getting one at this time, unless by a stroke of extreme, unprecedented luck, was pretty much out of the question.

Kaytoo was a good partner on his missions, but in the grand scheme of the Alliance he wasn’t essential at all. Utilising time and resources for this just because Cassian missed his friend… This could wait. It _would_ wait. 

He left the card in Jyn’s care, because it was better than carrying it with him and obsessing over it when his mind needed to be on the mission, and pressed the thoughts out of his mind.

If every now and again he thought he still saw Kay next to him out of the corner of his eye, then, well, everyone had their ghosts.

*

Nar Shaddaa drives home the point that the galaxy is different now, after Alderaan, after the planet killer. 

Some still don’t believe it, that the station ever existed. They have their theories about Alderaan, one wilder than the other, but it helps them cope. But the majority, after the shell-shocked stupor has passed, were forced to look at the galaxy and make a choice.

The Alliance is now seen as what they’ve always wanted it to be, a single force standing against the Empire, and not as a mess of scattered, solitary cells. Cassian knows they actually still have a long way to go, but the image is helpful and dangerous at the same time. They’re a single target now, with the Imperials hellbent on proving the Rebels can’t win, but they’re also a valid option for those who strain under the tyranny. 

Jarya meets him at a dive bar near the spaceport. There’s a new scar on her chin and she dyed her hair dark blue since the last time he’s seen her. She gives him a cursory once-over and nods for him to sit down. “Where’s your hulking shadow?” she asks.

Kaytoo never liked her either, then again, he never liked anyone. “Gone. How’s your wife?”

“No idea, never tells me anything,” she shoots back easily, which means a deep cover somewhere. He’s pretty sure she still blames him for recruiting Amie. “You up for a stroll?” she asks, the concern in her voice meaning that he hasn’t quite managed to conceal his slight limp. 

“Now?” he asks and she shrugs.

“No day like today. We might meet up with some old friends, smell some flowers, blow up some buildings…”

“Sounds like old times,” he mutters and stands up. If she has an operation already in place, he can go with it. Last time he did get shot and interrogated by the Imperials, but Jarya _did_ get him out of it eventually. “Might as well.”

*

On the way home he gets a message with a set of new coordinates - they’ve finally moved base. He grimaces when he realises where to, Hoth has been his least favourite option. Then again the Imperials would never think anyone was desperate enough to settle in that damned ice wasteland, so there’s that.

He spends the first two hours shivering in the debriefing and then gets momentarily lost while trying to find his new quarters. It’s been a long couple of days.

It might be another couple more - Baze and Chirrut have apparently been making themselves a nuisance to the Black Sun on Ord Mantell - Draven seems to blame Cassian, but realises there’s an opportunity to take the cell down and utilise its resources they can’t pass on. 

The door is not yet set up with an access code and it slides open easily. It takes his eyes a moment to adjust to the darkness, but then there’s a hulking shape moving towards him, a familiar shape, and he goes through a quick assessment of _Kaytoo - no, can’t be - imperial droid_ before reaching for the blaster at his side, a cold shiver running down his spine.

“Cassian, you’re back,” Kay says and Cassian lets his hand fall, breathing in harshly. 

_”Kay,”_ he says, wonder in his voice. He doesn’t know how this is possible, what exactly did he just stepped into. 

“A woman calling herself Jyn Erso rebooted me. Said you were on a mission,” Kay offers, a hint of reproach in his tone.

 _Jyn._ Of course. “She’s a good friend, Kay.” 

“I will amend my database,” the droid says, sounding petulant about it. Cassian can’t help but laugh, warmth bubbling in his chest. “She said I was shot protecting you?” Kay adds and Cassian nods.

“Would you like access to the mission debriefs?”

“Yes, please.”

He boots up his terminal and punches in the code, the warmth still coursing through his veins, something suspiciously like happiness unfurling in his chest. “Knock yourself out, Kay. I’ll be back soon, I need to talk to Jyn.”

“Good friend Jyn Erso,” Kay clarifies, still sounding unconvinced. Cassian can’t stop grinning as he gives into the impulse and gives the droid a one-armed hug which Kay returns awkwardly, clapping him on the back. 

Jyn’s door has apparently been set to admit him, lighting up green and sliding open when he presses his hand against the panel. She stirs immediately, a light sleeper by necessity, and shifts to the side of the cot when she sees him. 

The room is dark, but he can make out the lines of her face easily as she looks him over, reaches out to touch the bruise on his jaw. Her touch is warm and light, and he reaches up to take her hand, lace their fingers together.

He can’t believe they have known each other for less than a fortnight, that just a couple of weeks ago she was a stranger. He thinks of the first time he saw her, the righteous fire burning inside her, angry and dangerous. That same fire is warm now, an old friend, a feeling of home.

She smiles when he laces their fingers together, and he can’t kiss her soon enough. 

He can taste her smile, her lips soft against his. His hand is on the back of her neck, doesn’t quite remember when he put it there, his fingers sinking into her hair. She moves when he does, inches closer, and then closer still. 

He’s been waiting for this for days now. It felt like a foregone conclusion, but neither of them were taking this final step, a little wary of going too fast, of moving in too soon, even if it seemed inevitable.

There was a soft pleasure in the waiting, but this is much sweeter.

“Welcome home?” she says, as if she was reading his mind. Her breath is warm on his lips.

“For tonight,” he agrees. “Tomorrow… there’s a mission on Ord Mantell, if you’re interested.” He can’t imagine going without her. At some point this might prove a problem, then again, it might be quite the opposite. “Apparently some two fools have been picking up fights with the Black Sun.”

Her laughter is warm, fond. “Sounds like a party,” she tells him and tilts her head, the kiss landing in the corner of his mouth. Her hands move down his neck, a light touch until she places them on his shoulders, pushing gently. 

He goes willingly, lets her move over him, straddling his hips. It’s a narrow cot on a military base, definitely not designed for two and really uncomfortable for this, but he wouldn’t trade this for the world. 

Jyn deepens the kiss, her fingers digging into his shoulders, swallowing the groan he can’t help but let out. It’s both rushed and patient, without an end or a goal in sight, like they’d both be content to kiss like this for the rest of their lives.

They’re both breathless when the kiss finally breaks, none of them moving far away. Her hand on his chest is directly above his heart and he knows she can feel the beat under her palm, rushing in the darkness. They both stay still for a long moment, a forever stretching moment, and it’d be easy to kiss her with intent again, to tug at her shirt and slide it down her shoulders, and sink into her, get lost in her.

But this is easy too, to nuzzle into her neck and tug her close, let her find a comfortable way to fit around him on the too small cot. They have time, they’re going to find a way to have all the time they need.

*

When they get to the ship, Kaytoo has already started the pre-flight procedures, as expected. What is a little less expected, is Bodhi, bundled up in what looks like at least three jackets, arms crossed and a determined look on his face.

Well, what can be seen of his face.

“He’s not a fan of the cold,” Jyn whispers conspiratorially and flashes Bodhi a grin when he gives her a look.

“I’m from Jedha. The nights got cold occasionally, but _this_ is not cold, this is an abomination against nature,” he mutters. “Also, I’m going with you.”

“Have you been cleared for missions by the medics?” Cassian asks, and has only himself to blame when Bodhi pulls down his scarf to grin at him.

“No. Have you? Officially?”

“I’m pretty sure I know where I’ve made the mistake,” Cassian complains, tossing his bags into the cargo hold. “It’s when I went against the Council’s orders and stole a ship. No one treats me as an authority figure anymore.”

“I never have, if that makes you feel better,” Jyn tells him earnestly and leans in to kiss his forehead quickly before getting into the ship. “Hi Kay.”

“It’s the good friend Jyn Erso,” Kay informs Cassian, and he’s pretty sure he’s being made fun of. Kaytoo looks Bodhi up and down and turns his head to Cassian. “Are we taking more passengers? I was not informed, I’ll have to modify my risk assessments.”

“I’ll leave you to your fun, then,” Cassian tells him and clasps Bodhi’s shoulder briefly. “Come on then, lieutenant, get us to Ord Mantell.”

*

The last time he’s been on Ord Mantell it was under the guise of a governmental agent, Willix. Unlike some of his operational aliases, this one has never been burned and should serve them well in getting where they need to be. 

Willix is most useful when he’s a pain in the ass of other bureaucrats, who are willing to overlook a lot just to get rid of him. He’s also a stickler for rules and codes, and that includes the dress code, which in turn is not something Cassian is particularly fond of. 

Jyn watches him get ready, a frown on her face when she surveys his slicked back hair and clean shaven face. 

“You don’t look like yourself,” she informs him and he rolls his eyes at her.

“That’s sort of the point.”

She hums thoughtfully, reaching out to run her finger down the side of his jaw, tilting his chin up into a short kiss. “I guess I can work with that,” she decides benevolently, still close enough that her lips brush his when she speaks. “I was looking forward to the beard burn though.”

“You’re already a little red,” he tells her, touching his thumb to the corner of her mouth. In the bright light inside the ship it’s easy to see the slight redness to her skin. She grins slowly and Cassian has a feeling he might regret this, but he asks anyway. “What?”

“Oh, you thought I meant on my face,” she says, clearly trying for an innocent tone and missing it by a mile. Cassian felt his face go flushed, a wave of heat pooling low in his stomach. 

“We’ll talk about this later,” he mutters, his voice hoarse, and Jyn gives him a pleased little smile. 

“Sure. If this mission goes well we might even revisit the authority figure discussion.”

“I don’t know where I went wrong with my life,” Bodhi says loudly from the cockpit. “I wish I did.”

“Would you like me to run diagnostics for you?” Kaytoo offers pleasantly and Jyn hides her face in Cassian’s neck, laughing.

*

Finding Baze and Chirrut is easier than expected, once they get into Black Sun’s base of operations. All they have to do is follow the sounds of explosions. 

“You came on a ship?” Baze asks, practically knee-deep in dead bodies. When Jyn nods, he rolls his eyes at them for some reason. “Alright. Get back on it and turn around, I don’t want you to encourage him like this.”

Cassian follows this to a possible logical conclusion. “Chirrut?”

“He said the Force would provide us with a ship,” he mutters with disdain. “Told me I should just have faith.”

“And do you?” Jyn asks and Baze snorts.

“In him, maybe. Alright, if you’re not going anywhere, make yourself useful. We got separated, he’s somewhere on the lower level still.”

Cassian gives him a curt nod. “Bodhi’s on the landing platform, Kay’s guarding the ship. You should…” he starts and then realises what are the chances of Baze actually heading for the ship as the man checks his weapon “lead on,” he finishes instead. Jyn pats him on the back as she starts moving after Baze.

They come across a group of Black Sun mercs, huddled around a corner, arguing in hushed whispers. Cassian raises his hand and they wait for a moment, listening in.

“I’m not being paid enough to deal with fucking Jedis.”

“There’s no Jedi anymore, they’re all dead.”

“Well, _I_ know that, but do you think anyone told this guy?”

Cassian can sympathise with them, he truly can. Doesn’t stop him from shooting them, but still. 

Chirrut’s holed up in what looks like the communications centre, leaning against one of the consoles, a blaster wound to his leg. 

“You fucking fool,” Baze mutters, bringing their foreheads together for a moment, lips brushing before he pulls away, Chirrut grinning up at him. 

“I told you the Force would find a way. Captain, there’s a number of things that might be of interest on the console here,” he tells Cassian and moves out of the way, leaning on Baze as he does. 

There’s a log of Black Sun’s dealings with the Empire, in the Mid Rim and beyond. Shipments, transfers, logs of hired mercs… a few strategic strikes could not only get the Alliance some desperately needed resources but badly hurt some of Empire’s operations in the region. 

“Give the Force my regards, Chirrut,” he mutters, his mind already turning over some of the logistics, when there’s a distant explosion from the general direction of the landing platform. “I think that’s Bodhi calling. Everyone ready to move?”

*

It’s clear that Draven doesn’t quite know what to do with Chirrut and Baze, and Cassian probably shouldn’t find it as amusing as he does. Princess Organa seems on the verge of laughing throughout the briefing, however, so he’s clearly not the only one. 

They agree to stay on with the Alliance on a trial basis, as independent agents. Cassian is appointed as their liaison, and Draven seems both relieved and worried at the thought. 

“I think I might retire,” Cassian tells Jyn and she snorts. “Move to Naboo, maybe. Get a farm.”

“My father tried being a farmer,” she says thoughtfully and shrugs before he can say anything. “Was fucking terrible at it. You’d be so much worse.”

“Go on, ruin my dreams,” he mutters and she smiles, reaching out to cup his face with her hand. He leans into the touch instinctively.

“I’m not even going to respond to that, that opening was way too easy,” she says and laughs when Cassian leans down to kiss her, the laughter turning into a groan when his mouth travels lower, gentle against her neck until he finds the spot that makes her shiver and dig her fingers into his arms. “Speaking of easy,” she mutters and pulls away a little, enough so she can tug at his belt, her fingers insistent and quick at their task.

There’s too many layers between them, but as much as he’d love to get rid of all of them, it’s Hoth, and even inside the base the temperatures are not quite conducive to this. They’re going to have to make do.

Jyn seems to be of the same mind, nothing if not efficient after she disposes of his belt, her hand moving over his dick, warm, and a little too rough, and perfect. Cassian arches into the touch and pulls her closer, bringing their mouths together, sliding his tongue over her lips. She groans and bites at his lip lightly, the sounds she’s making doing just as much for his hardness as her hand. 

“Come on, I believe we’ve discussed something,” he mutters against her jaw and sinks to his knees, pants still open as he sets to the task of undoing hers. The belt proves to be problematic, refusing to give in to his impatient fingers, and he helps himself with his teeth. Her hand sinks into his hair as she tries to find her balance, stumbling a little backwards to lean against the wall.

She groans when he puts his mouth on her, the sound turning into a giggle when he puts his tongue to work. Her fingers tighten in his hair, tugging a little bit too hard and gasping out a “sorry” which makes him smile against her skin. “Cassian,” she groans, hoarse and warm, and he rewards this by slowly entering her with a finger. Jyn shivers, leaning forward as her second hand lands on his shoulder, like she’s having trouble with keeping upright. Cassian is actually a little pleased about that.

“Come up here,” she mutters hotly and he takes a moment to move his tongue in time with his finger moving inside her, listening for her groans. 

“Just a moment,” he says against her, his breath coming out in a huff, and she shivers again, like just the warmth of his breath against her wetness is bringing her off. “I have a very important job here.”

“I swear to-” she says, and loses her words in another groan as he continues at his task, revelling in her taste, in the way she clenches around him. “I need you-” she starts again and then she’s trembling, pleasure overtaking her as he keeps her mouth on her throughout, guiding her through it with light flicks of his tongue. 

It takes her a moment, hands on his shoulders as she’s breathing harshly, before she pushes against him, sending him willingly sprawling to the floor. “Don’t look so pleased, I’ll get you back for this,” she tells him and he’s never been so turned on by a threat, to be perfectly honest.

“Name a time and place,” he says and then she’s straddling him, positioning herself to sink onto his dick, hand on his chest for balance, palm spread over his rapidly beating heart. “Oh, is it now?” he says, but it comes out strained and rough as he lets his head fall back with a quiet thud against the floor. 

Jyn is pushing her jacket off her shoulders, sending her shirt askew in the process, and he watches her from under half closed lids, riveted by the sight. He reaches out, hands on her hips as she moves over him with intent, and tugs her closer, raising his head again so he can kiss her through this, fuse their mouths together and get as close as possible.

He’s too close and tries to tell her that, but she bites his lip and moves her hips _just right_ , and then he’s coming as Jyn grabs his hand and moves it to her clit, guiding him until she’s shivering on top of him and he’s swallowing her moans.

She curls into his body, mouth moving lazily across his jaw, placing small kisses down his neck, and the air is already too cool against his skin, but he can’t bear to move right now. 

“I’m still gonna get you for that thing,” she mutters sleepily and Cassian laughs into her hair. 

“I’m holding you on to that.”

They’re going to have to move soon, but he wants to stretch out this moment, the quiet darkness filled with her heartbeat, to fill his senses with her until he can always feel her with him. “Hey,” she murmurs, barely above whisper.

“Yeah?”

Her eyes are dark and wide, and she looks up with a small smile playing at her lips. “Welcome home,” she tells him, like she’s reading his mind that easily, and he tightens his hold on her and hides his face in her neck. They are.

**Author's Note:**

> I pushed myself to finish this fic today, to give myself and everyone something happy. Star Wars is bittersweet today, and I'm falling into bouts of uncontrollable crying because I can't quite imagine the world without Carrie, but I think she'd approve of coping through writing. 
> 
> If anyone wants to talk, find me on tumblr at realitycheckbounced or on twitter at hothcouture. I love you all, thank you so much for reading, commenting, kudos-ing, and just being a part of this fandom.


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